


Once Upon An Irish Castle

by buckybarnesdeservestobehappy (hutchabelle)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Advertising Executive Steve Rogers, Airports, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Boys Kissing, Break Up, Broken Engagement, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Cabins, Castles, Cloud Watching, Fairy Tale Endings, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Flying, Goodbyes, Hallmark ending, Happy Ending, Healing, Heartache, Heartbreak, Honeymoon, Honeymoon For One, Ireland, Kissing, M/M, Marvel Trumps Hate 2020, Oral Sex, POV Steve Rogers, Past Relationship(s), Past Steve Rogers/Alexander Pierce, Pierce Is A Cheater, Protective Bucky Barnes, Recovery, Separations, Sex, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Top Bucky Barnes, Walks In The Woods, handyman bucky barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:29:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29965701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchabelle/pseuds/buckybarnesdeservestobehappy
Summary: Steve, a driven and successful advertising executive from Los Angeles, is devastated when he finds out his fiancé has been cheating on him. Leaving him behind, he decides to go on their honeymoon alone—to a breathtaking castle in the Irish countryside. He soon discovers the honeymoon suite isn’t so sweet when everything starts to go wrong, from his lost luggage to his repeated run-ins with the estate’s manager Bucky Barnes, a handsome outdoorsman with a knack for getting on his nerves, but only because he’s the most beautiful human being Steve’s ever seen.
Relationships: Alexander Pierce/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 36
Kudos: 90
Collections: Marvel Trumps Hate 2020





	1. Once Upon A Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kalika_999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts).



> Words cannot describe how much I've enjoyed being a part of Marvel Trumps Hate the past few months. As a brand new Stucky writer, I was terrified no one would bid on my auction, which was a silly fear given the generosity and kindness in this fandom. It's been an absolute joy to work with [Kali](https://kalika999.tumblr.com/) who offered up such fantastic prompts that I fell in love with this one immediately. An Irish Castle? A Hallmark ending? A jilted Steve and burly Bucky? A love story that transcends borders, an ocean, and thousands of miles? Yes, to all of it. After all, Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers deserve to be happy.
> 
> The story is complete. It will post daily through next Tuesday. Happy birthday, Bucky!

Steve Rogers closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the headrest. He hates flying, and there’s something even worse about it when the flight in question is a solo jaunt across a continent and the Atlantic Ocean on what’s supposed to be his honeymoon. He huffs as the plane starts to taxi. The only saving grace of a trans-continental flight by himself is that the seat next to him isn’t filled with a stranger who doesn’t understand the concept of personal space. It’s empty. There’s no one there. There’s no stranger there because the seat next to him is supposed to be his husband’s. Except he’s not married.

It’s not even a good story. Steve had caught Alexander Pierce, his fiancé—former fiancé, Steve reminds himself sharply—in bed with another man when he’d arrived home early from work. Alex hadn’t even had the decency to conduct the affair in a nice hotel instead of fucking the guy in their sprawling LA mansion.

Even now, Steve feels like an idiot. He’d been young, fresh out of college, when he met Alexander, who was and still is a wealthy, debonair, established businessman with a private jet and an impressive investment portfolio. Alex had swept him off his feet, wining and dining and dazzling him with a lifestyle Steve had never before experienced. When he asked Steve to marry him, Steve had thought his life perfect, but then the engagement dragged out and their sex life dulled and Steve’s career had infringed on his free time. When Alexander went on business trips without him, Steve wondered, but he’d trusted that their commitment was solid. What an idiot. All those promises, and then he’d come home and found his fiancé thrusting into and groaning with another man. He still can’t think about it without getting physically ill.

There’d been tears and yelling and broken belongings and a frigid pronouncement from his fiancé that he wasn’t interested in getting married anymore—not to Steve, anyway. Maybe to the new guy, who was no more than 22. Three weeks before the wedding, and Steve’s world crumbled. When he’d moved his belongings out of the mansion, he’d snagged the airline tickets and lodgings reservation they’d made only a few weeks prior. Hell if he was going to let someone take his honeymoon without him.

That’s how he finds himself on an airbus three weeks later, lifting into the night sky from LAX and headed for Dublin, Ireland. The land of shamrocks and leprechauns and his mother’s ancestors awaits him. He hopes it’ll be kind.

He watches the lights fade below him as the plane climbs. Hot tears prick at the corners of his eyes as he says goodbye to what he’d thought his life was going to be. His boss told him to get out of town for a few weeks, but he’s not sure he wants to go back to the city where all his memories remind him he got taken in by a sugar daddy instead of being loved for himself. He’ll figure it out, he supposes, but right now he can barely face himself in the mirror, let alone the Los Angeles LGBT social scene.

As the plane nudges above the clouds, he allows the tears to fall. Somewhere over the Midwest, he falls asleep.


	2. A Prince Meets Another Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky needs a helping hand. Steve has two to spare.

Steve startles awake when a pilot announcement cuts through the quiet of the cabin. He blinks and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before squinting out the window. The sun peeks over the horizon, and he chooses to see it as a promise of better things to come. He’s tired of feeling like he’s been kicked in the gut, exhausted and despondent and just plain sad that the man he’d planned to pledge the rest of his life to found him so readily replaceable.

Thankfully, the rest of the flight passes quickly, and Steve’s on the ground when he powers up his phone. There’s nothing except wishes for safe travels from one of his co-workers. It pisses him off he’s disappointed that Alexander hasn’t contacted him, even though he knows that won’t ever happen again unless it’s to work out some legal dissolution of their lives together.

It gets worse. His luggage doesn’t arrive on the carousel, even though he watches bag after bag after bag emerge down the chute. Deflated, he meets with customer service, and they assure him it’s on the next flight from LA. With promises to deliver it when it arrives, they shoo him through the lines at customs, and he finally emerges into crisp Irish air. If it wasn’t for the fumes, he’s sure it would smell better than the southern California smog to which he’s grown accustomed.

Somehow, he finds his way to ground transportation and arranges travel to Kilkea Castle where he hopes he can change his reservations from the honeymoon suite to a regular room. He’d tried to do that before he left Los Angeles, but he hadn’t been able to get the details finalized. As he slides into his seat, he’s glad he’s splurged for a private ride instead of crowding onto a bus with a bunch of strangers. His nerves are raw, and all he wants to do is find some food and sleep for a day.

“Welcome, Mr. Rogers. We’re so happy to have you here at Kilkea, and can I be the first in Ireland to congratulate you on your recent nuptials? I see you have the honeymoon suite reserved. Will your wife be joining you soon? And your luggage?”

Steve grimaces and folds into himself. It hurts as much as he feared it would when he admits, “No. I’m here by myself. Lost bag.”

“Oh, I’m sorry?”

“Long story. Is there a way to trade the suite in for a regular room? I’m happy to pay the higher rate, but staying in there—” His throat closes, and he can’t speak. He’s pretty sure his heart cracks when the woman checking him in shakes her head.

“I’m so sorry, but we’re just booked solid. The wedding season, you know. June is a very popular month for our castle. I’d offer to switch you with someone, but the reservations are very specific.” She really does look like she wishes she could help him, but that doesn’t actually make much difference. Alex’s final gift to him is to haunt him on his pseudo-honeymoon. He’s still going to have to sleep in the room where he thought he’d be engaging in multiple rounds of passionate, and likely dirty, sex with his brand new husband during his stay.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” he mumbles as he winds his way to the suite. The castle is gorgeous, and the grounds are stunning, as well. He has a handful of brochures about the surrounding area, all of which promise adventure and something very different from southern California. He’s almost convinced things will be okay until he unlocks his door.

His throat aches as he surveys the suite. It’s gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous, and he can visualize his former fiancé in the surroundings. He squeezes his eyes shut and forces his mind blank before exploring the rest of the area. There’s a bay of windows in the bedroom, and he unlatches one to let in fresh air, hoping that will help him sleep. When the window snaps off a hinge, he yelps and grabs it. His heart almost beats out of his chest, but he’s able to stop it from falling. Unfortunately, it’s still broken, and he’s not going to be able to rest until it’s fixed.

“Fuck,” he mutters as he picks up the room phone. When it connects with reception, he explains the situation. They promise help within the hour, which doesn’t do him a lot of good since he’s about to fall asleep on his feet. Frustrated and beyond exhausted, he decides to shower the travel grit off him while he waits. Thankfully, he has a fresh change of clothes in his carryon, but his luggage better arrive the next day or he’ll be wearing dirty clothes. Again, he laments that he won’t be naked and in bed most of his stay.

The shower helps. He feels almost human again, although even more drained, when a knock sounds at the door. He shrugs on his pair of sweats and a t-shirt over still dewy skin and turns the doorknob. He’s struck dumb by what he finds.

“Something wrong with a window?”

Steve can’t speak. Or think. Or breathe. There’s a vision standing in front of him. The man, whoever he is, is the most exquisite creature Steve’s ever seen, and he’s speaking in a lilting baritone with the sexiest Irish brogue that’s ever been uttered. Steve takes in the broad shoulders and tree trunk thighs, flat stomach under a soft looking burgundy Henley, pale blue eyes that sparkle like ice in sunlight, and long mahogany hair that falls in waves past a square jaw Steve’s positive could cut glass.

“Hi,” he breathes, and the thing of beauty smiles.

The world lights up. Rainbows dance in Steve’s periphery. He feels like he’s floating, and his extremities tingle. He’s in the presence of the divine, standing on holy ground. He’s thrilled to be in the afterlife.

“Window?”

“Huh?” Steve asks, stupid with desire, and laughter that dances like bubbles washes over him.

“Did you call about a broken window? If you’ll point me in the right direction, I can fix it for you. You seem a little out of it. Jetlag?”

Steve snaps to attention, his ears and cheeks burning bright red. He’s making a fool out of himself in front of this man who doesn’t deserve to be ogled by a guest when he’s just trying to do his job.

“Sorry! So sorry. Yes, jetlag. And a broken window. Come in— Uh, who are you?”

“Bucky Barnes. I’m the…well, I’m a lot of things around here. Right now, I’m the guy who can fix your window.”

“Steve Rogers,” he responds dreamily. “Nice to meet you.”

Steve looks in wonder as Bucky’s right hand engulfs his own. He hadn’t been aware he was holding his out, but he had, apparently, and Bucky’s kind enough not to leave him hanging, even though it’s completely unnecessary for him to shake the hand of a maintenance worker. He’s admonishing himself, his thoughts rambling, when he realizes Bucky’s only got one arm. He’s just about to blurt out something when Bucky lets go of his hand and picks up his tools again.

“Right. So, the window?”

“Right! Right, yes. The window. Over here,” Steve says and leads him through the suite to the bedroom. He allows himself a half second to fantasize about the two of them sprawled on the massive bed together before motioning to the problem.

Bucky examines it for a few seconds and nods. “It’s just slipped off the hinge. I can have it fixed for you in a few minutes. Quicker if you’ll lend me a hand. Literally.” Not trusting himself to speak, Steve nods. He moves to where Bucky indicates and tries to breathe.

Bucky smells amazing, like sunlight and fresh-cut grass and the outdoors. There’s a hint of musk and sweat that are both remarkably pleasant, and Steve wants to lean into him and nuzzle his neck where strands of dark hair fall from where Bucky just pulled it back into a half-bun. Steve sneaks a look at his face and swoons over the pools of smoky blue eyes over an aristocratic nose and full, red lips. The stubble of facial hair on his strong jaw makes Steve want so many things. Almost all of them are inappropriate.  
  


“There we go,” Bucky announces. “Good as new.”

“Oh,” Steve exhales. “That was quick.”

“I do good work.”

“I bet you do.” Bucky looks at him quizzically, and Steve steps back awkwardly. “Right, so…thanks. I appreciate it.”

“My pleasure. I’ll let myself out, and congratulations. Best wishes to you and your bride.”

Steve watches the stretch of material over Bucky’s broad shoulders as he leans down to pick up his toolkit. Desperate for him to understand the situation, Steve blurts, “Husband.”

“Sorry?”

Steve gesticulates wildly as he babbles. “It would have been congratulations to me and my husband. If we’d gotten married. I like men. I mean, I’m gay. Only, we didn’t get married. I’m on my honeymoon alone. Except not a honeymoon. We called off the wedding.”

Bucky’s expression is one of mirth and wonder. Steve’s a thousand percent positive it’s because he sounds like a complete moron.

“My condolences,” he finally offers, and Steve nods miserably.

“Thanks.”

“I should…” Bucky motions with his tools and inches to the doorway.

“Sure, sure,” Steve agrees. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to word vomit on you. Thanks for your help.”

“Welcome to Ireland,” Bucky says in his gruff voice, and Steve’s a thousand percent sure he swoons. The man-angel smiles graciously and slips into the hallway leaving the suite feeling terribly empty. Steve’s still staring at the closed door when he sways on his feet. Too tired to do anything but stumble to the bed, he crawls under the down duvet and falls into a deep sleep.


	3. King of Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky offers perspective and helps Steve begin the healing process.

Steve wakes the next morning to a pounding on the door. He’s got a terrible headache and a stomach so empty he thinks he might die, but he’s thrilled to take his recovered suitcase from the hotel clerk standing in the hallway. He regrets his decision to take a nap when he arrived instead of finding some food. He’s managed to sleep for 18 hours, but he might gnaw off his own arm if he doesn’t eat something in the next five minutes.

After a full Irish breakfast, he decides to wander the sprawling grounds. The weather is gorgeous, sunny and cool with fluffy white clouds skating across the blue sky. He finds his way across the grass to a flat spot near the edge of the woods. With nothing better to do, he lays down on the ground, crosses his arms behind his head, and stares up at the sky.

One minute bleeds into the next, but he has no desire to move. He idly worries about lack of sunscreen as the sun beats down on him, except he doesn’t really care if he’s being honest with himself. Watching the clouds morph into bunnies and dragons is so far removed from his high-stress days as an advertising associate that he almost can’t believe this is actually his life. Of course, almost everything that’s happened in the past three weeks has been unthinkable. He closes his eyes to block it out when a shadow falls across him.

“Everything okay?”

Steve’s eyes fly open at the sound of that Irish burr. Squinting, he smiles. Bucky’s still an angel surrounded by a golden halo.

“’s fine. You’re blocking my light.”

“That’s the thanks I get for making sure you’re alive? Tough room. Er, tough lawn? Something like that.” Bucky chuckles, and Steve responds with an uncharacteristic giggle. A freaking giggle.

“I appreciate the hospitality. Always heard Ireland’s a friendly place.” He turns his head to the side and closes his eyes again. He’s just too comfortable to do anything else.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Steve peeks one eye open and sees the Irishman is more handsome than even the day prior. “Mostly okay, yes. Other than the getting jilted part, you know. I’m watching the clouds. Doing a little relaxing, which I don’t get to do much of in my real life. Feel free to join me if you need a break, too.”

“I might do that.”

“Please,” Steve says with a smile and pats the ground next to him.

Bucky sinks down and stretches out on the grass. Steve can feel the heat radiating off the other man’s skin, and he fights the urge to roll into Bucky’s side and tuck his face into that massive, burly chest. Bucky crosses his arm behind his head, mirroring Steve as much as he can with a missing limb, and they watch the sky together for a few minutes. When he does speak, it’s with clear amusement.

“So, this isn’t your real life?”

“What?”

Bucky answers, “You said you don’t get to relax in your real life. Isn’t this your real life? Are you on some astral plane or something? You seem solid enough to me.”

“Solid,” Steve agrees, but his throat closes. “I can still break.”

Steve can’t keep the hurt out of his voice, and Bucky nudges him with his elbow. “Bend, don’t break. Isn’t that the saying? I bet you bend when you need to.”

The rush of heat from those words heads straight to his groin, and Steve growls a response. He can almost picture it—Bucky bending him over, pounding into him from behind, his beautiful face masked in passion while his masculine frame ripples with power. How Bucky Barnes is simultaneously beautiful and handsome is a gift from the Lord, but Steve’s already accepted that Bucky’s some sort of spiritual being. He simply can’t be real any other way.

“Maybe.”

A few beats pass before Bucky offers quietly, “You know, my ma always said that I’m a good listener. I know we’ve hardly met, but you seem like you could use an ear or a shoulder or something. I’m willing.”

Steve’s willing, too. He really, really is. Willing to fall into Bucky’s arms and beg to be healed, to feel whole, to be knitted back together by this soft-spoken, kind outdoorsman with broad shoulders and a gentle soul. There’s no way this is anything but a rebound, but Steve can’t find it in himself to care. There’s something about this man, something gorgeous and wounded, that calls to him. It’s almost like Steve’s got a missing piece, and Bucky’s just there to slot them back together again. Steve ponders it for a second and then realizes he has no reason to harbor any guilt. Alex bedded another man in their home while their wedding license was on the side table.

“Maybe I worked too much or something,” he says slowly, allowing the words to pool on his tongue before they fall from his lips. “I thought we were solid. I loved him, and I thought he felt the same way.

“Hollywood’s always a crapshoot. Half the population is actors who lie for a living and the other part wants to ride those coattails. He wasn’t like that when we met. His studio hired me to create a campaign to advertise merchandise for their movies, and we hit it off. We were together for two years before we moved in together and then another before he proposed. A long engagement. I thought he was just being gallant, but then I came home early and caught him—”

“You don’t have to…” Bucky’s voice is gentle. Steve swallows the pain but forces himself to finish.

“I caught him with another man, a much younger man, and it wasn’t the first time he’d strayed. I found out he’d been continuously unfaithful, and I’d been too stupid to notice. Or maybe he was just really good at hiding it.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky offers softly, concern clear in his tone. “Maybe you just fell in love with an arsehole who was a good enough actor to fool you.”

“I should have been able to tell.”

“And why’s that?”

Steve watches a cloud transform from a cat into a unicorn before answering. “I don’t know. Second sight or something. I have Irish roots, you know. I just— I should have looked harder. Been more careful. I feel like such a fool.”

“Sometimes it’s not possible to protect ourselves from people who are determined to hurt us. Sometimes we just have to take a leap of faith and believe,” Bucky offers. “You trusted someone who betrayed you, and it hurts. Now’s the time to heal your heart, not berate it for doing what hearts are supposed to do.”

Steve turns his head and can’t help but smile at the man lying next to him. He’s wise beyond his years, which must be somewhere close to Steve’s thirty. Bucky watches him, his gaze steady. Hypnotized by Bucky’s lilting voice and sage observations, Steve inhales and drifts with the clouds. He breathes in and out and concentrates on the steady push and pull of air through his nose and lungs, the rise and fall of his chest, and the way he feels cleaned out after several moments of doing nothing but focusing on a simple animal instinct.

Sounding hesitant to break the quiet, Bucky murmurs, “I should get back to my duties. Can I help you up, or would you prefer to stay?”

Steve looks at the proffered hand, those long fingers on such a powerful arm, and reaches out for them. Pads tickle Steve’s as they brush together before Bucky’s palm closes over his. It seems effortless for Bucky to tug Steve to his feet. That pull’s the first real hint Steve has of Bucky’s strength, and it makes his knees watery.

“Have a good rest of your day, Steve. I hope you start to heal while at Kilkea. It’s a good place to do so. It has been for me.”

Bucky’s eyes are pools with infinite depth. Steve can barely remember how to swim. He watches Bucky go, struck by the loping gait, slightly formal speech pattern, and kindness that emanates from someone who looks like he could hold the whole world on his shoulders. If Steve imagines the gleam of skin he glimpsed beneath the loose navy t-shirt Bucky wears, he’ll never admit it.


	4. The Prince and the Peen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve can’t sleep, and it’s absolutely and definitely because he’s sexually frustrated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies to Hans Christian Anderson for butchering the title of his fairy tale, "The Princess and the Pea."

Steve can’t sleep, and it’s absolutely and definitely because he’s sexually frustrated. This is supposed to be his honeymoon, damn it, and instead, he’s got a raging hard-on for the Irish version of the Brawny paper towel guy. That man might also possibly be the gentlest, wisest person Steve’s ever met, if their conversations since he arrived are any indication.

Tossing and turning, Steve wrestles the sheets until they’re twisted in a pile and half on and off the bed. When he glances at his phone and sees it’s well after midnight, he sighs and gives in. There’s no way he’s going to be able to sleep until he relieves some tension. It’s been too long since he’s had any respite.

A cool breeze sweeps in through the window, the exact one Bucky fixed the first time they met, and pebbles Steve’s skin. He wrenches his foot free of his pajamas so he can spread his legs and rucks his t-shirt up to expose his stomach. He’s already hard, jutting upward proudly with an angry, leaking head that clearly communicates it means business. With an exaggerated sigh, Steve spits in his hand and palms his erection.

He hisses at the sensation, adjusting the pressure so that his eyes roll back in his head. Breathy moans fall from him, unbidden but welcome in the silence. It feels so goddamn good, he can barely handle it. He’s leaking more than a little, and the moisture smears over his hand when he strokes more vigorously. Abandoning his stomach, he drops his left hand down to his balls and rolls them in his palm, pressing and massaging them until they grow heavy. He’s tempted to finger himself open, but he’s not sure he needs to. He’s already having to talk himself into calming down and prolonging what he’s doing.

His own breathing is loud in his ears, accompanied solely by the rustle of him jacking his cock in an ever-increasing pace. The rhythm only stutters when he catches his palm on the head and inhales sharply. He’s not going to last. He wants to because it feels amazing. He’s drifting, the pressure building higher and higher. He can’t remember the last time he did this, and he wonders why he waited so long. Fuck Alexander. Steve deserves better. It’s only taken a month to get there, which is 29 days too long as far as he’s concerned.

“I’m gonna nut,” he moans to no one but himself, and then his body seizes. His back arches off the bed, accompanied by a tortured groan. He shouts as he comes, the pleasure so great it feels like he’s being torn in two. His arm is tired, but he pumps until his forearm cramps and he’s dry, every speck of moisture wrung from him and coating him with ejaculate. Steve curses as his hand falls limply to his side. He’s still moaning softly, and he realizes he’s calling someone’s name in breathy sighs.

Stunned at the intensity of his orgasm, he floats for a while, allowing images of the burly Irishman to swim in his fantasies. Flashes of faded blue over high cheekbones and a wicked grin dance behind his eyes, and Steve can almost feel that muscular body pressing him down into the mattress and fucking him senseless. His breath catches, and he shakes his head at the mistaken idea that he’s got anything left in him. His imagination wants to go again, but the reality is his dick is completely spent. It’s not even pretending to perk up, even with the lewd daydreams playing on a loop in his head. Sighing, he swipes himself clean and finally falls asleep.

It becomes a habit every night. So does spending time with Bucky Barnes in the daytime.

Steve roams the grounds during waking hours, finding pleasure in the beauty of the castle and its resort. He doesn’t intentionally seek out the estate manager, but it seems Bucky’s always working somewhere accessible. His capable hand finds things to groom or shape or repair, and he always fixes his mirthful gaze on Steve and smiles in greeting. Steve gravitates to him, and they end up spending the days together, Steve helping the Irishman with chores and projects around the grounds and sometimes ending with a beer at a local pub.

Bucky’s funny and smart and has a depth Steve hasn’t found in Los Angeles the entire time he’s lived there. They never run out of topics to discuss, and they make each other laugh heartily. A bond develops, something much stronger than what can usually be established in only the few weeks of Steve’s stay.

High on lust and endorphins, Steve takes matters into his hands after the sun goes down. In the dark at night and in the privacy of his own room, he gives into every sexual fantasy he’s ever had that he can indulge in by himself. He works himself open while jerking his cock and paints himself with his own release. His cries are constantly a name, and it’s always desperately moaned into the darkness.

Toward the end of his second week, Steve wakes groggy and confused. Without bothering to tidy up the mess he made the night before, he stumbles to the bathroom and grimaces at the dried crust on his stomach. He steps into the shower, somehow stubbing his toe against the tiled ridge, but when he turns the knob, nothing comes out. With a groan, he flounces to his bed and flops facedown into the mess of tangled sheets. He reports the broken shower to the front desk and closes his eyes. He’ll just rest for a second.

“Steve?”

He jumps off the bed at the sound of his name in an Irish accent and realizes about a split second too late that he’s naked. Flushing a brilliant red, he grabs a pillow and holds it in front of him. When his cock jumps at the startled expression on Bucky’s face, Steve presses into the pillow in an attempt to quell his exceptionally inappropriate boner.

“I knocked,” Bucky offers in his defense with a shrug and glances around the room. Too late, Steve realizes the bottle of lotion he’s been using as lube and the towel with which he hastily cleans himself are in plain sight.

“I fell asleep,” he admits in an embarrassed groan. “Sorry. It’s the shower. I’ll just— while you— Right.”

With Bucky in the bathroom, Steve leaps for some sweats and a tank top and tugs on the clothes. He presses down on his crotch with the palm of his hand and wills it to behave. Then, he grabs everything he’s used to pleasure himself and hides it in the depths of his suitcase. Frazzled, he runs fingers through his messy hair and gargles some mouthwash before slumping onto the side of the mattress.

“All done.”

“Really?”

Bucky leans against the door jamb and twirls a socket wrench in his hand. “Yeah. Just a loose joint. Castle upkeep is never ending. Thankfully, this is a quick fix.”

“Look, uh, Buck…”

Steve stammers for several moments, trying unsuccessfully to apologize for practically flashing the poor man when he’s only doing his job. When he finally grinds to a miserable halt, Bucky’s standing in front of him.

“You done losing it?” he asks with the hint of a smile flitting across his lips. Steve can only nod. He feels like he’s pinned to the bed by Bucky’s piercing eyes. Bucky hauls him upward and catches Steve’s chin in the grip of his thumb and forefinger. Steve’s breath catches in his throat a split second before his eyes close and Bucky’s mouth presses soft and warm against his.

Steve’s toes curl into the carpet. It’s been a while since he’s kissed anyone but Alex, and he’s forgotten how intoxicating and amazing a first kiss can be. Moving closer, he tilts his head and moans at the way Bucky chases him and then claims what he’s caught. When Bucky’s tongue makes a particularly lewd suggestion inside his mouth, Steve whimpers at the sensation.

And then the kiss is broken, and Bucky’s backing away with his hand raised.

“Sorry! I’ll just go,” Bucky blurts as soon as they’ve broken apart.

“You don’t have to,” Steve says as clear as day in his mind, but the words don’t agree. They come out garbled, and Steve has the very terrifying thought that he’s having an out of body experience. It doesn’t seem fair when the only other body he’s interested in is right in front of him.

Steve reaches out to him, but Bucky breaks the spell. Stammering more apologies, he grabs his tools and breaks for the door. Steve doesn’t even have time to call out a thank you before Bucky’s escaped. Once he’s gone, Steve steps into the shower. The hot spray is no deterrent for how long and hard he strokes himself while reliving that kiss. Thankfully, shower walls clean as easily as his own skin. He washes away the evidence and goes in search of breakfast. For the first time since he arrived almost two weeks ago, he doesn’t see Bucky for the rest of the day.


	5. A Trail of Breadcrumbs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's avoiding him, and Steve's running out of time. Cue a visit to Bucky's cabin in the woods.

Bucky’s avoiding him. That’s the only explanation for why Steve hasn’t seen him since their kiss. He’s tempted to give Bucky time, but he’s leaving in a few days. His un-honeymoon’s coming to an end faster than he wants, and he has to make sure things are okay between them before he leaves. There’s only one thing to do, and that’s go find the Irish version of Steve’s wet dreams and force him to speak. Or something.

He shrugs on a cardigan over his shirt and leaves his room. Pocketing his room key, he stops by the front desk and asks if they can point him in the direction of the lake. He’s sure they won’t tell him exactly where Bucky lives, but Steve knows Bucky’s cabin is just off that trail. After clearing up a brief misunderstanding that lake and loch mean the same thing to him, he thanks the woman who wishes him a good day and pushes into the mist and wind.

Steve’s freezing in five minutes, unused to such high humidity and cool weather in the middle of summer. By the time he finds the right trail, it’s actually raining, a slow drizzle that drips down the back of Steve’s neck and runs in frigid rivulets down his spine. Cursing the Irishman for avoiding him and forcing this adventure, he plunges into the woods with barely contained fury. He’s going to give Bucky a piece of his mind. Sure, it was only a kiss, but it had been a really, really good one. It’s still at the forefront of his mind every second of the day, and he’s willing to bet good money Bucky feels the same. His absence makes no sense when they’d been so happy spending time together before their lips touched.

Steve stumbles over a root and slips in the mud. He manages to right himself before he falls, but his shoes are a mess and his sweater sags with excess moisture. Wet denim clings to his legs, and he’s suddenly aware of how cold he really is. This isn’t exactly how he wants to face Bucky, but it’s the opportunity he has. He’s going to take it.

Just when he’s about to give up, Steve staggers into a clearing and sees a beautiful sight—a small cabin that looks straight out of a fairytale. It’s small with a sharply sloped roof and a blue door. Casement windows with boxes of flowers grace the front of the house, and a wood pile that’s stacked high sits neatly next to the front stoop. Topping it off, a brick chimney rises from the slate roof. A curl of white smoke wafts in the air, and Steve might weep at the thought of a warm fire and something hot to drink. He raps on the door three times in quick succession and waits for an answer.

The door opens slowly on a quizzical Bucky with his dark hair flowing to his shoulders. When he sees Steve, he blanches but motions him inside. He leaves Steve dripping and returns in seconds with the biggest, fluffiest towel Steve’s ever seen.

“You’re soaked through!” Bucky scolds. “What are you doing out in the rain? Are you trying to get hypothermia?”

Steve’s teeth chatter too hard to make his retort anything more than laughable, but he still spits, “It’s summer. Who c-c-catches cold then?”

“Clearly, you.”

Steve towels his hair dry and then glares at the Irishman. “I wouldn’t have had to be out in the rain if you hadn’t been avoiding me the past few days. I thought we were friends.”

Bucky cringes at Steve’s wounded anger. Gulping down his hurt, Steve attempts to blot his sweater but finally gives up. It’s too waterlogged to bother. Exasperated, he shoves his sopping bangs out of his eyes and stares at Bucky, almost daring him to speak. For his part, Bucky doesn’t. Instead, he sighs.

“Let me get you some dry clothes. You’re miserable, and you’re going to ruin my floor. Follow me.”

Steve shadows Bucky’s steps from the living area into a small bedroom. He doesn’t have much time to look, but it’s cozy and holds a massive bed with a dark blue and gray plaid duvet and a pile of pillows. It’s the right touch of masculine and classic to fit perfectly with the cottage’s décor. Bucky motions to a door, and Steve crosses to it and steps into a tiled bathroom with a steam shower and claw-footed tub. How there’s room for both in such a small cabin, Steve doesn’t know, but he covets them both.

“Change into these,” Bucky says. “You can leave your wet clothes hanging in the shower. I’ll dry them once you’ve changed.”

“Thanks,” Steve says softly and closes the door so he can shrug out of his wet clothes. Bucky’s picked out a light blue fleece and navy and white pinstripe flannel pants. There are a pair of dark gray cashmere socks that feel heavenly when he slips them on. The clothes smell fresh and clean and a little bit like the man who owns them. Steve’s wrapped in a bubble of everything good, and he wants to steal every stitch of what he’s wearing so he can take it back to LA with him and keep the memories alive.

When he emerges, he finds Bucky in the kitchen with a tea kettle. The water has just started to boil when he pulls it off the flame and pours some into a cup. Golden brown swirls leach from the diffuser, and Steve inhales eagerly. The scent of peppermint dances in the air. Steve wants to stay in this moment forever. Being here with Bucky is as close to perfect as he’s ever been.

“Here,” Bucky offers. “This’ll warm you through. Don’t want you catching cold and leaving with a bad impression of Irish hospitality.”

Steve accepts the mug gratefully and cups it to warm his cold hands. He blows to cool the liquid enough to drink before taking a sip and groaning as the flavor hits his tongue. He loves black peppermint tea. It reminds him of his mother and her home remedies when he was younger and his asthma made regular bouts with bronchitis cause for major concern.

“Irish hospitality has been wonderful up until the past two days.”

Bucky flashes a rueful smile and suggests they move to the living room and sit by the fire. Steve follows and sinks into a sinfully soft charcoal velvet couch. Everything in this cabin is soft and inviting, including the man who lives here. Steve considers building an exact replica when he returns to southern California and furnishing it the same way.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky sighs. “I meant to come find you today, but it was raining. I didn’t want to get you out in the weather.”

“That worked well.”

Bucky chuckles and smiles at Steve, whose stomach flutters at the twinkle in Bucky’s gray-blue eyes. “My plans aren’t always the best.”  
  


“‘I don’t understand what you mean,’ says the man who is on his honeymoon by himself.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I missed being with you.”

The words wrap comfortably around Steve like a heartfelt embrace, and he leans into it like a cat desperate for affection. He smiles over the rim of his mug and nods. Bucky doesn’t look away, and Steve’s muscles loosen as his anxiety ebbs. Relaxing into the cushions, he curls his legs under him and settles himself. He plans to stay for a while.

“I missed you, too.”

“Stay with me today. Let me make it up to you.”

Steve purses his lips and pretends to consider the offer. “Well, that depends,” he finally says.

“On what?”

Steve’s fingers itch to brush the dark wisps of hair off Bucky’s cheeks, but he resists. “On whether or not you can cook. I don’t want to starve to death in the woods because you don’t know how to boil water.”

Bucky barks a laugh and smiles widely. “I can boil water. I made you that tea. I’m also an excellent cook, Steve. I promise you won’t starve.”

They while away the morning on the couch, talking and laughing and sharing more stories that bind them closer. They slump nearer together until their shoulders touch, and Steve relishes the warmth that floods through him. The contact is comforting. The absence of awkwardness between them is even more so.

They cook lunch together. Steve chops potatoes, carrots, and other vegetables to add to the hearty stew Bucky stirs on the stove. When it’s almost done, Bucky heats a loaf of bread that comes out light and crusty. He serves it with fresh butter and stout beer that Steve devours. By the time they’re done eating, Steve’s decided this is his new favorite meal. He makes a note to research the locations of authentic Irish pubs in his LA neighborhood.

By mid-afternoon, the rain has eased into a drizzle and then stops altogether. Bucky suggests a short hike to the lake so they can get some fresh air and stretch their legs. Steve agrees and then flushes with pleasure when Bucky takes his hand and holds it firmly in his as they pick their way along the trail. After a while, Bucky tugs him down a bramble covered path that takes them to a gorgeous clearing with a babbling brook and a canopy of lush green leaves.

“This is beautiful,” Steve breathes. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

Bucky pulls him into a loose embrace and rests his foreheads against Steve’s. “Just like you,” he whispers. “I knew you’d love it.”

“I really do.”

The words, laden with something more than each individual syllable, hang in the air between them. Steve’s head swims, and he wonders if this is what swooning feels like. He closes his eyes and inhales, breathing in the scent of moss and wood and rain and Bucky. It’s intoxicating, and Steve’s drunk from it. Bucky ducks his head and captures Steve’s mouth in a lazy, thorough exploration.

“You have the most fascinating lips,” Bucky murmurs. “Plump and kissable and luscious. If I let myself, I could live on just your kisses.”

Steve melts into his arms, snuggling closer and tucking his head into Bucky’s neck. “I’d let you. As long as you feed me peppermint tea and Irish stew and soda bread and beer for the rest of my life.”

A contented rumble echoes through Bucky’s chest as he kisses Steve again. “As much as I’d like to take you up on your offer, there’s more to see. If you want to, that is.”

Steve nods and lets Bucky take his hand again and lead him beside the water. They follow it for a while, and Bucky points out little things for Steve to appreciate. He weaves tales of little people and fairies and the second sight passed down to him from generations of Barnes ancestors that allow Steve to imagine a world full of luck and good fortune. The stories are punctuated with bouts of kissing and laughter and roaming hands. Bucky seems particularly interested in the hollow behind Steve’s left ear, and Steve can’t get enough of the feel of Bucky’s silky hair slipping through his fingers.

Finally, Bucky tugs Steve into a hug and nuzzles his cheek. “Let’s head back. I’ll cook you dinner, and we can have a picnic in front of the fireplace.”

Steve kisses the hinge of Bucky’s jaw and nods. They make their way through the woods, fingers intertwined, laughing, breathless, and unable to get enough of each other. When they stumble through the front door, Bucky crowds against Steve and kisses him senseless. Caught between the door jamb and Bucky’s muscular chest, Steve moans softly as Bucky nibbles his lower lip and then covers his face in butterfly kisses. Dopey and giddy, Steve doesn’t even care how sappy it all is. He’s just thrilled to be in Bucky’s arms when his time left in Ireland is so short.

They sprawl on the floor in front of the fire, socked feet and pajamas making them extra toasty. Dinner tastes amazing, but they eat quickly knowing they have nothing but each other to enjoy for the rest of the night.

The sun’s just starting to set, much later than it does in LA, when Bucky reaches for Steve, his eyes hooded and dark as he pulls him close. Their lips meet, and they shiver as electricity sparks between them. Bucky tugs Steve into his lap, and they twist around each other. Steve can’t tell where he ends and Bucky begins. Everything is warm and soft and Bucky. His skin’s oversensitive, the fleece and cotton raising goosebumps where it grazes against him.

“Steve,” Bucky murmurs, “you’ve changed everything.”

Fearful of breaking the spell, Steve only nods and nuzzles against warm skin and Bucky’s soft sweater. Bucky’s hand settles on Steve’s side and rucks up the fleece. He asks permission with his eyes and Steve whispers agreement in a breathy groan. Slowly, Bucky drags the material over Steve’s head and then guides him onto his back. Steve settles into the plush blanket and bites his bottom lip as Bucky traces the cords in his neck with the tip of his tongue and then follows those lower, across his chest, down to his torso, and then to Steve’s flat stomach where he presses open mouthed kisses to the space just above Steve’s waistband.

“Yeah,” Steve grunts, his head spinning as his skin burns. “Bucky, please, please, please…”

Bucky moves at a glacial pace, and it’s insanely erotic. There’s no rush as he divests Steve of his pants and socks. He massages every inch of skin from Steve’s waist to the arches of his feet, except for the hard, aching shaft between Steve’s legs.

It’s silent except for the crackling of the fire, uneven breaths, and sporadic moans that fall from each of them at irregular intervals. Bucky lavishes attention on Steve’s thighs, so much so that they actually tremble. It’s completely cliché, and Steve would be embarrassed if he didn’t feel like his insides were molten lava. He’s almost out of his mind when Bucky takes him in his mouth, and Steve practically levitates off the blanket his back arches so far.

Curses spill freely from his lips, and Bucky’s caress his cock. He’s rock hard, aching with need as Bucky slickens him with spit while hollowing his cheeks and sucking hard. Steve squirms, but Bucky holds him down with his arm. It already feels like Bucky’s everywhere, so Steve wonders how much more sensation there would be if Bucky’s missing limb wasn’t a factor. If he had to bet, he’d say he’d combust if there was any more of this gorgeous man worshipping him.

Bucky grazes his teeth featherlight on the underside of Steve’s erection, and he breaks. Waves of emotion roll through him as he comes, a series of streams shooting into Bucky’s mouth as he laps at him greedily. Bucky growls possessively as he swallows and coaxes each drop from Steve’s spent dick. Steve’s body falls slack, drained and stupid from his orgasm. He can barely breathe, but his face splits into a lopsided grin.

“Why do you have on so many clothes?”

The words come out slurred but intelligible, and Bucky grins at him. He lies on his side and studies Steve with cloudy blue eyes as he brushes hair off Steve’s forehead.

“Because you’re my priority,” he answers in a barely audible whisper. “That was all about you, sweetheart.”

Steve drifts for a few more minutes, his skin warm and dewy in his post-orgasmic haze. Bucky’s fingers thread through his hair and his nails dig gently into Steve’s scalp. The combined sensations make him heady and languid in a strange mix with semi-awareness.

“Priorities,” he mumbles and drifts a little longer. Finally, he wants more. He surveys Bucky’s shoulders and presents his request. “You naked. Now. Buck, please.”

Steve dies a little when Bucky’s bared body touches his. His sharp intake of breath releases in a hiss when Bucky’s chest grazes his nipples. Steve reaches, eager to get his hands on golden skin. He traces abdominal muscles and corded tendons before brushing the pad of his thumb across Bucky’s pectorals. A groan falls from kiss swollen lips, and Steve repeats the action just so he can hear that beautiful noise again and again.

Bucky’s thigh is between Steve’s leg, and Steve ruts against it, allowing the friction to send signals to his flaccid dick. It’s not immediate—Steve’s not a teenager anymore—but gradually, he hardens until he’s plumped up to some semblance of erect.

“Steve, I—”

Bucky voice breaks. His eyes are squeezed shut, tears gathered in the corners, and Steve kisses them away. Bucky’s oversensitive, his skin burning under Steve’s hand, and there’s nothing more important in this moment than bringing Bucky to the brink and watching him fall over the edge into oblivion.

“Help me,” Steve implores. “Bucky, help me.”

Steve lifts his hips and presses them against Bucky’s. They both moan as hot flesh slides together. Steve wraps his hand around their erections, pressing them against each other and moving his palm up and down in slow, deliberate strokes. Bucky fumbles to join him, shaking with need, and Steve entwines their fingers so their hands are linked.

“I want to make you feel so good, Buck,” he murmurs. “Make your eyes roll back in your head and your breath catch in your throat. Want you to leak all over me, cock hard and aching in my hand, throbbing and stiff. Ready to blow. Let me make you happy, Bucky. You deserve to feel as good as you make me feel every time I see you.”

Sobs catch in Bucky’s chest, and he babbles Steve’s name intermittently with pleas for mercy. Steve guides their hands, clutching tighter for increased pressure, gripping and releasing to heighten the want coursing through their bodies. Steve can’t take his eyes off Bucky with his plump red lips parted on a stricken face, cheekbones burning pink, incredulity shining in lust-glazed eyes. His dark hair is tangled around his gorgeous face, and Steve wonders when the last time was that Bucky had anyone lavish him with the attention he deserves. Panic builds in Bucky’s eyes, and Steve can tell he’s close. He’s trying to maintain control, but Steve wants that all to go. He wants Bucky to break, to allow himself to shatter, so that Steve can catch the pieces and meld them back together again.

The glide of their tangled fingers provides the background music when Steve leans over and kisses Bucky’s left shoulder. He’s careful, unsure how sensitive the scar tissue is where Bucky’s arm should be, but he adores every part of this man—even the part Bucky must mourn. Steve hasn’t asked him what happened, and Bucky hasn’t offered the information.

Bucky’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He comes soundlessly, his eyes begging as he locks his gaze with Steve’s. Steve nods, soothing him with a gentle blessing to take what he needs. Bucky’s body shakes, his shoulders hunching as he punches out his release in long, milky stripes that smear on their hands and stomachs. Steve doesn’t drop his gaze, his eyes glued to Bucky’s in that intimate bond that envelops them.

When it’s over, Bucky’s chest and neck burn scarlet, and Steve forces Bucky to continue looking at him. “You were perfect, Buck. Don’t hide from me. It was beautiful. You. You are the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen. Ethereal is the only word adequate to describe you.”

When he can’t handle the eye contact any more, Bucky hides his face in Steve’s neck as his body continues to quake and tremble. Steve cradles him closer, relishing the vulnerability. Bucky’s been such a bastion of strength for him since Steve arrived. It’s an honor to return the favor.

It takes a while, but Bucky eventually regains his composure. Pulling back, he gives Steve a watery smile and rises. When Steve protests, Bucky soothes him. “I’m just getting a cloth. I’ll be right back.” Bucky returns promptly with a warm, wet rag that he uses to clean them and another fluffy towel in his hand. When they’re dry, they cuddle back onto the rug and Bucky drapes a thick flannel blanket over them.

“There are no words,” he finally whispers against Steve’s lips. “No words for how perfect you are.”

Steve can’t help but smile, although it’s bittersweet. Time continues to march forward, and he can’t stop it. No matter how much he wants to stay here in Bucky’s embrace, he simply cannot. His life in Los Angeles awaits, and he needs to pick up the pieces and figure out where his life goes now.

Steve’s eyes droop, and Bucky kisses his eyelids and coaxes him to sleep. He’s in that golden space between slumber and wakefulness when he hears Bucky’s query. “How am I ever going to let you go?”

He’s barely conscious, but he manages to mumble before falling into darkness. “Don’t.”


	6. True Love's Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve wakes up to an idyllic day in Bucky's cabin with a very happy ending.

Steve wakes the next morning filled with trepidation and hope. He’s warm and comfortable and happy, and it scares him. Bucky’s still dozing, beautiful and relaxed, and Steve takes a moment to work through how precious this face is to him now. It’s only been two and a half weeks with a man who’s helped heal him. Only seventeen days since Bucky began mending Steve’s heart the same way he fixes broken windows and showers, and all he had to do was help Steve remember that Alexander’s infidelity wasn’t Steve’s fault. Bucky says he doesn’t know how to let him go, and Steve realizes he doesn’t want him to try.

The problem is Bucky has to. Steve can’t stay. He’s got responsibilities, a job, belongings, and his own demons to face. He can’t just abandon everything after a post-jilting honeymoon no matter how amazing Bucky Barnes is. He tries to convince himself. He gives his heart a sternly worded lecture, but it tells him to kindly fuck off when Bucky shifts and blinks open his beautiful blue eyes and smiles softly. As gorgeous as Bucky always is, sleep-rumpled, cuddly Bucky is that times infinity.

“Morning, sunshine.”

The deep rumble rolls over him, and Steve has to close his eyes and grit his teeth to swallow. He’s in major trouble.

“What’s that look?” Bucky teases. “Seems too early to be so worried.”

Steve can’t help himself. He cuddles back into that broad chest and strong shoulders and breathes in the scent of the outdoors that clings to Bucky no matter what he’s been doing. He sighs happily as long fingers card through his messy hair. The quiet stretches, and Steve’s grateful for that allowance as he struggles to come to grips with what he’s feeling.

“’m okay,” he finally admits in a small voice. “Thinking about my trip home. I hate flying. That and coffee. You promised not to starve me. Does that extend to caffeine, too?”

Bucky’s voice is fond when he answers. “That depends on if you expect a second cup. People who drink and run aren’t my favorite.”

Steve can’t help the smile that splits his face. Bucky wants him to stay. He plays it cool, though. No need to admit how deep his feelings might go when everything’s so new.

“My flight’s in three days. Until then…”

Bucky shifts, and Steve hisses at the slide of their bodies. “Until then, I won’t monopolize your time unless that’s what you want. I’ve gotten used to having you around. The extra hands are nice.”

Steve trails his fingers over the scars tracing along Bucky’s chest. “I haven’t asked. Didn’t know if you wanted to talk about it.”

“Car accident,” he answers, darkness clouding his words. “I was stupid. I deserved what I got.”

Steve wants to argue. He wants to insist accidents are just that and not some karmic punishment for perceived sins, that Bucky’s too angelic to be a sinner anyway. All of it’s there inside him, but he holds it in. He’s struck again by the fact that he hardly knows this man. The last thing he’s going to do is argue with him over his own life. Bucky sits up then and picks up a discarded pair of sweats. When he’s standing, bare-chested and stunning, he waves to the kitchen.

“Take your time. I’ll go make us some breakfast. Coffee included,” he adds with a wink and leaves Steve alone.

The day is perfect. It’s nothing special, but they spend it together, which is enough. The hours roll by until it’s dark, but Steve doesn’t return to his room. He isn’t sure how they’ve managed to keep their hands off each other the entire day other than sweet kisses and pressing together on the couch, but it doesn’t feel like anything’s been lacking. Instead, it’s only stoked anticipation; so much, in fact, that Steve’s trembling when Bucky locks his door, turns off the cabin’s lights, and takes Steve’s hand. He follows Bucky into the bedroom and steps willingly into Bucky’s strong embrace.

“You can tell me to stop,” Bucky says in his deep brogue, the words tripping over themselves as he kisses the underside of Steve’s jaw. “I will as soon as you say the word.”

“I’m not going to tell you that.”

Bucky’s breathy acceptance is music to Steve’s ears, and he’s suddenly impatient to get started. He steps back and tugs his shirt over his head before reaching for Bucky’s. In seconds, they’re both stripped, and Steve gapes at Bucky’s bulky form. The firelight the previous night didn’t do the man justice. Bucky’s body is a work of art.

Steve’s not a small man, but when he’s flat on the bed with Bucky pressing him into the mattress, Steve feels cherished and almost diminutive. Bucky absolutely overwhelms him as his muscled frame moves and slides over Steve’s more lithe form. Bucky releases sounds that are half-tortured and half-psalms of praise. Steve can’t think. He can hardly breathe when Bucky covers his hand with slick and reaches between Steve’s legs.

He whimpers so hard it hurts. The exquisite pleasure of Bucky working him open, stroking and prodding so intimately that Steve is completely exposed, feels so good it borders on painful. He’s laid out and vulnerable, and it’s clear Bucky views his body as a treasure and not an entitlement. After what seems like forever, Steve’s loose and panting and pleading for Bucky to take him. Bucky lays down on his side and wraps his arm around Steve’s chest so they’re spooned together. He puts his mouth to Steve’s ear and commands in a low growl, “Let me in.”

Bucky enters him from behind, pushing so slowly Steve begs for him to continue. Bucky’s broken cries fill the room, and Steve feels a rush of possessiveness. This man is everything, and he deserves only perfect things. Steve’s not, but he’ll try when they’re together.

It’s slow and heated. Bucky’s hips roll and grind in lazy circles, and Steve does his best to take all of what he’s given. Bucky’s thick although not too long, but Steve still has to work to take him deeper. It’s a good thing he’s always been outstanding at putting in the effort. Bucky covers his neck with open-mouthed kisses, branding him with Irish passion. They’re bound together, connected so tightly Steve’s positive nothing can come between them.

When Bucky rolls onto his back, Steve’s world tilts again. The burn of Bucky inside him coupled with the way he manhandles Steve into position makes his insides smolder. He pulls his legs up to his chest, spreading wider for deeper penetration. He bounces on top of Bucky, helpless to do anything but take and take and take some more. Burning with desire, he lets himself be used. It leaves him breathless.

“Steve,” Bucky groans, “Steve, sweetheart, this is… Christ, you’re so sweet.”

The steady stroking accelerates, and soon they’re bucking together, chasing a high that’s just over the horizon. The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow skitters off into the distance, but Steve’s willing to search for it forever.

“I want to ride you,” Steve gasps after a particularly deep thrust. “Please, Buck.”

With a growl, Bucky flips Steve over. He steadies Steve’s hip with his hand, and Steve’s head falls back as he straddles Bucky’s hips and lines up the shaft with his opening. It stings when he sinks down, filling him so fully that he swears he can feel it in his throat. He presses his eyes closed for several moments and forces himself to calm. He punches out an expletive when Bucky closes his fist over Steve’s weeping cock and tugs.

“Buck,” Steve yelps.

“Move, baby,” Bucky urges, and Steve wants to do nothing else. Tentatively, he lifts up and then lowers himself to take Bucky in deeper. They both moan at the sensation of Steve speared on Bucky’s hard dick and wanting more. There are a few awkward starts and stops, but he soon finds a rhythm that works. He fucks upward into Bucky’s hand, while grinding down on his length. It’s enough to convince Steve that paradise exists. He’s found it in their connection. This act is sacred.

Bucky’s eyes are rolled back in his head, and he’s chanting something that sounds like a prayer under his breath. Steve can hardly stand how his dark waves frame a face that’s masked in ecstasy. He’s selfish, he knows. Steve wants this forever, and he wants it first. Frantic with the need to drive Bucky over the edge, he jacks himself until he’s writhing and squirming so intensely that Bucky looks at him through heavy-lidded eyes and flashes a gratified smile.

Steve breaks with a high-pitched cry, his climax rocking through him and pumping out in waves of fulfillment. He paints Bucky with his release, marking him as his own for this moment if that’s all they can be. Frantic to bring Bucky along with him, he pinches Bucky’s nipples and talks dirty. He murmurs filthy suggestions that make Bucky whimper. He promises things so lewd, he blushes. Bucky groans and presses bruises into Steve’s skin when he clutches Steve’s hip and drives upward multiple times. Then he tenses, and Steve holds his breath and blinks away tears at the image of Bucky falling apart below him. It’s a masterpiece painted by the gods.

Steve collapses on Bucky’s chest while Bucky continues to shudder beneath him. Their skin is slick with sweat, but Steve wants Bucky’s mouth on his. Tongues and lips tangle as Bucky empties himself. Steve sends up prayers of thanks for being the recipient of the gift of a post-orgasmic Bucky Barnes. It’s beyond breathtaking.

Afterward, they talk for hours instead of falling asleep. They avoid only the topic of Steve leaving, but everything else is fair game. By the time they finally drift off together, they know more about each other than they know about themselves. They avoid the inevitable as long as possible, but suddenly, it’s the morning of his departure. Reality crashes around them when they wake.

“I can drive you,” Bucky suggests gruffly. “I’ll take you to the airport. If you want.”

Steve agrees with misty eyes and a lump in his throat. He walks back to the castle by himself so he can pack and attempt to process his feelings. He’s got an hour before Bucky will pick him up and drive him to Dublin. Looking around the suite, he tries to imagine spending the past few weeks with anyone other than Bucky. Alex seems like nothing more than a bad memory when a month ago he was cause for Steve’s broken life. Now, Steve’s going to take his battered, mended heart and leave part of it here.

The drive is miserable, both of them quiet and too emotional to say much, but it’s enough to be together as the miles pass beneath them. Bucky doesn’t pull into the drop-off lane. Instead, he heads to a parking garage. Steve’s grateful for the extra privacy they’ll have as they say goodbye. Even now, Bucky’s protecting him. Of course, he is.

“I can’t walk you in. I can’t watch you go through the gates knowing I can’t follow.”

Steve nods. He’s having trouble letting go, but the seconds are flying by, slipping through his fingers like sand. He presses another searing kiss to Bucky’s lips and finally pulls back. Bucky tugs him back in, gluing his forehead to Steve’s as their eyes close.

“I have to go,” Steve breathes.

“I know.”

Neither of them move, both trying to memorize every aspect of being together. Finally, Bucky’s broken whisper washes over him, and he squeezes his eyes closed against the moisture forming in them.

“May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind always be at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face, and rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.” Bucky heaves in a shuddering breath and adds, “Goodbye, Steve.”

Steve’s heart clenches at the Irish blessing he’s heard all his life uttered from beloved lips that aren’t his mother’s. He cups the back of Bucky’s neck and kisses him fiercely one last time. When he breaks away, he looks into Bucky’s slate blue eyes and winces at the pain that ratchets through him. He can’t do anything more than grab his bags and put one foot in front of the other. He’s terrified he’ll break if he looks back with tear-filled eyes.

One step after another. Through check-in, security, and the terminal to the screens that display gate information. As he purchases water and snacks for the flight. As his insides shatter when someone calls his name, but it’s a stranger’s voice. They aren’t looking for him. When there’s nothing else to do, he squares his shoulders and begins walking to his gate. One foot and then the other. He forces his legs to move.

Until they won’t anymore.

Steve stands in the middle of the walkway as other travelers dart and dodge around him. He’s rooted to the spot, unable to lift his feet if it means taking himself one more inch away from Bucky. He’s panting, gasping for air, his lungs burning, his brain screaming at him to move. He has a plane to catch. The world spins around him. Garbled announcements ring in his ears. Someone bangs into him. A dirty look is thrown over a shoulder. Time stops. Steve’s numb, until a sob wells up in his throat and rips from his chest. Clapping his hand over his mouth, he does the only thing he can.

Steve runs.


	7. Happily Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve got off the plane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With apologies to Ross and Rachel for the chapter summary.

Steve dodges as many people as possible as he sprints toward the terminal doors. He tosses breathless apologies over his shoulder, but he doesn’t stop. He has to get to Bucky. Bucky, who’s surely already gone. Steve’s been inside the airport for almost an hour. There’s no way he’s still waiting, but Steve has to check. His suitcase bounces behind him as he takes the stairs two at a time and bursts into the parking garage.

“No,” he moans, frantically scanning the row where Bucky had parked. He’s not there. He’s not—

“Steve?”

The car’s in a different place, like Bucky started to drive away and couldn’t see well enough to do so safely. He’s gripping the wheel and staring at Steve like he’s seen a ghost.

“Bucky?”

Steve hears a muttered, “Who the hell is Bucky?” from a disgruntled man behind him on the stairs, and he chokes on a sobbed laugh. Steve turns and points to the car.

“He’s an angel,” he breathes before stumbling in his haste to fall into wide-spread arms.

Tears stain Bucky’s face, tasting salty on lips that won’t break from Steve’s. His arm encircles Steve’s waist, tugging them together so their hips align and grind together. Steve’s hands can’t stay still, roaming over every inch of the broad Irish body that fits him so well.

“Don’t make me leave,” he breathes when he can finally tear himself away from their heated kisses. “If I have to go, come with me.”

“I’ve already lost part of my body. I can’t stand to lose my soul, too,” Bucky sighs into Steve’s hair. “You’re part of me now. Stay with me. Stay with me or take me with you. I’m so glad you came back.”

His voice breaks on the last word, revealing his anguish at almost losing Steve. Steve runs his hands over strong shoulders, bones and flesh he craves so much they feel like they’re part of him.

“I love you,” Steve tells him then. “I know we’ve only known each other a little while, that I’ve only been single a couple of weeks longer than that, that we live on different continents, and… I don’t care. I don’t care! I love you, Bucky Barnes.”

“I love you, too,” Bucky whispers. “I don’t care about anything else. We’ll figure it out. For now, come home with me.”

He nods furiously, but he can’t help himself. “Only if you cook for me. I wouldn’t want to starve in Ireland.”

Bucky laughs, and Steve’s cracked heart almost beats out of his chest.

“I’ll make you a feast.”

Steve’s thrilled when he finds out later Bucky means that in more ways than one. He’s never been so satisfied, and he’s never been so happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever after...with several bumps and twists and turns along the way.
> 
> Steve's story is complete. Bucky's still a little bit of a mystery--one I didn't have time or space to fully explore in this story, although I hinted a few things throughout. If the opportunity and inspiration strike, Bucky will have his say. Until then, I leave them together and in love and very, very happy.
> 
> I loved writing this story, and I appreciate those of you who've come along with me. Lots of love to all of you and especially Kali for the inspiration and for supporting Marvel Trumps Hate. You are amazing.

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to Xerxia for the banner. You are always my rock star.
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](https://buckybarnesdeservestobehappy.tumblr.com/).


End file.
